Chaos Theory Unraveled
by KnocturnalxDesire
Summary: What if Buffy wore the amulet instead of Spike? What if her soul went to hell for some unknown reason and she met a certain hunter? A promise is made on both sides; Buffy keeps it. GIVE IT A CHANCE PLEASE! Read&Review!
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Buffy wears the amulet instead of Spike, resulting in her essence being contained in it; but her soul resides in hell. While below she meets a certain green eyed man. When somebody activates the amulet, she takes it upon herself to let him hitch a ride. With them both top-side again, the seal not broken by Dean - every creature imaginable is now after them. Stuck in a place between heaven and hell, with nowhere to go - what's a couple champions to do?

**Pairings:** Not too sure on if Buffy and Dean become an item. It's open.

**NOTES!:** This is my take on the time between S3 and S4 with Btvs S8 mixed in. Memories of below will be written up in the following chapters. Reviews are welcomed/wanted! I've been wanting to do a cross-over of these two for a long while, however should I continue it?

In the darken atmosphere, the chilling sounds were echoes that repeatedly continued. Goosebumps prickled up once golden flesh that now glinted with crimson liquid, her own voice not audible above the rest. Choking on what she pressumed to be blood, Buffy merely struggled to let a breathe escape seemingly deflated lungs. _Such a warrior you are! Look. at. This. The big bad slayer on a rack, tsk tsk tsk ..._ Taunting thoughts latched into the front of her mind absorbing there to always make the blond dwell on the occurrence that came wrapped up in a nice red ribbon, and once that was removed; tortured laid within.

The remembrance of her first death danced in and out of her conscious mind; this time she definitely was not heaven. No love, warmth or peace embraced her. Only pain and suffering clouded her existence, and she briefly pondered over the circumstances of being dragged there instead of up above. Did she do wrong? Or did the amulet possess an evil so frightening, somehow, someway, with harsh luck - it pinned all of it on her? Buffy's head angled awkwardly, trickles of blood oozed from the corner of her lips. _You aren't a warrior, they would never get sent to this place. You aren't even human anymore, are you? You came back wrong the first time!_

The thoughts continued, tormenting her into fits of anguish cries that expelled from bruised lips, steadily increasing in volume until an instant silence when everything spun in horribly funny circles and stars were visible upon eye-lids. "How's our precious slayer?" A voice asked, with sheer deliberate disinterest lacing his tone. "Peachy keen," Despite the agony flourishing in the damaged body, Buffy managed to break out the sarcasm. Even if only momentarily.

Being submerged in the dreadful fate grated all hope to diminish. How long had she been down there? Days? Months? ...Years? A bated whimper slipped out, at that thought. The very tip of her tongue lashed out to moisten dry, cracked lips; yet no saliva coated it. The heat began to grow unbearable, and flesh seared brutally. For the all-to-sudden action, eyes full of fear darted left and right as she sought out the source of this violation. The slayer oughta know by now that the punishment where she found herself in was not to be taken lightly. No matter of seconds were peaceful, and never would be. Again.

She stared into nowhere, breath convulsive, and not giving a seconds thought to fight it, unbidden tears formed in eyes and traced down the side of her face. "You've been a bad, bad girl." The voice almost child-like, and it's familiarity pounded into her skull, the fear rising at an alarming rate. "Dawn?" Eyes were fixated on the ceiling, frankly, it did not even look to be a solid ceiling, just one gaping black hole. "They said it's my turn to show you how much of a bad sister you are, so, here I am!" A giggle erupted, startling the blond into a deeper submission, if possible. Squeezing eyes tightly shut, feeling compelled to never give a glance toward what lurked mere inches from the rack.

"Buff ..." the tone cold, and a stinging sensation snapped eyes open, peering up at the face hovering so close to her own. Pure hatred radiated from the supposed eyes of her sister Dawn, it made the blond squirm. Chains kept the woman from escaping, chains on her ankles, wrists, midsection and even embedding to the depths of her soul holding her hostage for what she knew would be eternal. "Please," the beginning of a series of begging, that lasted even as a knife slid into her abdomen. Sanity was driven out and replaced with insanity that raged heavily. _'Somebody please help me!'_

As if on cue, a tug brought the woman's back up and arched, a gasp released into the hellish nightmare. One by one the chains were gone, body suspended into the air "NOOO!" The echoes of the demon could not be heard by Buffy Summers. Ivory digits sought after the form of a man ...taking him with her; like she promised.

Immediately, the amulet activated. A black whirlwind erupted from it, causing papers on Bobby's desk to stir. The ashen whirlwind started to glow with flecks of orange as something began to materialize inside it. A woman's skeletal form shows, then it gradually filled out until it's complete. The wind faded and Buffy was standing there, screaming and grunting, in the middle of the living area, right where the amulet was dropped. The slayer wore the exact same wardrobe the day she died; faded fitted blue jeans, a white v-neck blouse ending with a cream-colored jacket. Blood coated the front of the blouse where she'd been sliced through by a swore through her back.

Blond locks were disheveled, eyes wide and frightful, almost wild - as if a threat posed itself right now. Her chest swelled as she looked to the man standing directly in front of her. "W-who are you?" The surroundings were unknown, and that caused fear to bubble up. Staggering backwards, Buffy collided into a man coming from behind, another scream left lips. "Where am I?" The tone pleading. The petite woman pushed away from the heavy set man stumbling into a different room, a hand clutched her side, the wound open as if it just happened. As an older man cautiously reached for a gun a look of uncertainty masked his features, her eyes widened, and she whimpered then made a break for the bedroom, where she slammed the door shut behind herself.

Where the hell was she?

Frustrated, fingers fumbled on the door knob, the lock obviously not reliable in any possible way. As if somebody deliberately broken it, which sparked fear to encircle the slender figure. Buffy deduced that the means of escaping were slim, the profound blood lose evidently decreasing reflexes among for the lack of judgment should state it all - definitely off her game. What person runs into a bedroom and not outside? A ditsy bimbo did, not Buffy Summers. A slayer who fought beyond hundreds of demons and vampires in her time of being called. A scent of rock-salt mingled in the thick tension-filled air, and something else, but drowsiness and weakness winning over everything else, at that precise moment.

Treading almost cautiously toward the nearest window she surveyed the area in visual rage. It appeared to her as some sort of junk yard. _Great, just like wrong turn._ Resting the heated flesh of her forehead on the cool glass, eyes fluttered closed and she parted lips taking a deep, calming breath. But the moment eyes fallen shut red and black gleams wavered dangerously, causing a stir of emotion to assault the blond without a moments hesitation. "Ah!" Buffy gasped out, leaping away from the glass as if merely touching it scorched her precious body.

Buffy grimaced, acknowledging what pointedly been reminded. Hell. Oh great! False hopes of it being some fantasized nightmare created to establish a possible sick delusional mishap which in it's entirety guilt of leaving her family behind. Even if it meant saving them in the process. Like a trapped animal, she cowered in the middle of the room, soft green orbs were gliding back and forth. The wound already healing slowly, the skin melding together, but blood still seeped out. A golden skinned hand coated with crimson that stained it. A frown woven onto dry lips making a deep impression to embedded between brows.

_What am I suppose to do?_ She held back a whimpering sob, unsure of the next action to be taken.

The upper half of her body eased back when the door opened, no preparation for a fight, and in this weakened state - she'd be defeated. The darken thought caused mixed feelings to consume her until the man from the living room stepped inside. "I'm ain't gonna hurt you" The words so ridiculous. The line used several times in the past, and each, and every time, they hurt her. Few vampires, one demon - Angel, Spike, Riley, Parker - she could easily calculate and disagree with that statement he provided upon arrival into the bedroom-from what she witnessed, she considered it that-his doe orbs staring at her. Eyes widened perturbedly, the amulet dangling from fingers.

Buffy timidly extended slender fingers to coil around the amulet itself and tug it for good measure in her direction. Oh, Dean! _Where was he? _"Who're you?" The young, handsome man asked of Buffy, then he added, "And why were you in -" finishing his sentence with a gesture to the amulet. Swallowing hard, the slayer went to speak when water was splashed in her face, and she sputtered. "Precaution," A gruff voice interjected. "I'm Buffy Summers ..but ...you see, I'm missin' somebody ..I gotta find him," Not even thinking a second to the concern in her tone, she went to dodge out of the room to wince as pain throbbed in her side.

"You ain't goin' no where, you can barely keep steady ..and, you have a lot of explainin' to do." The aged man scowled, his jaw sealing up with a clench of his muscles. He looked dead serious. "Who you lookin' for?" A quiet whisper flooded the silence. Should she say anything? No threatening vibes hit her slayer senses. "A ..friend?" Okay, maybe not technically a friend, but whatever. "Dean Winchester," In the next second, she stared into a barrel of a gun. _Oh ...my_


	2. Chapter 2

This took a while to get up; distraction a bitch - however, if the response to this is somewhat uplifting, I'll continue. Definitely not beta'd, all the mistakes are MINE. And I do not own the characters ...sadly.

_In Hell, pain is your gift ..._

A suffocation so fierce, a loneliness so dreadful, a pain so excruciating; it all lead back to his eternal damnation that consumed his very tarnished soul. The world is filled with broken people; but to enter this place where all hope was extinguished, it became tiring after so long. The screams, it became a haunted melody to those who took up the torturing bit. He swore to himself that he'd live in hell and never give those bastards the satisfaction of letting them know they broke him. His fractured soul, wounded mind, torn spirit had everything to do with his silent promise he made the day he was shredded by the hellhounds, his body mauled, his brother left alone.

"Sammy!" He begged for his little brother. "Oh god, help me Sammy!" Crimson droplets seeped from his chest where tiny pinholes were located at; but with every breath he took, the holes grew and ripped his skin savagely, it was like a virus that spread rapidly devouring his body while the onlooker laughed and gawked planning their next move once his body healed up. "You want your brother?" Alastair asked, his voice low and maliciously taunting. Ignoring him, he was careful when breathing, but no matter how much effort he put into not taking a full breath, the pain still rippled through his body exploding, causing destruction from the inside out.

His world on a continuous pivot, a never-ending story: Which resulted in a deadly experience that dug into his very core where what strength he possessed would dwindle until he screamed out uncle-so to speak. "I'll give you, your brother ..." Dean's eyes flickered a glance at the demon, a look of alarm flashed on his features. Sammy's down here? He thought, his heart ceased to beat, his body went slack. "No, You ...son of a _bitch_" he swallowed hard. His chest caved in and everything went pitch black momentarily. "Dean, my boy, when will you give up?" a single finger tapped thin lips, a raised brow, and a look of mock thoughtfulness was all given to Dean along with the words. "When hell freezes over" He chuckled dryly, blood bubbled up in his mouth, trickling over the side and slowly descending his chin, in which he began to choke. _Oh somebody, help me_. In his pathetic state, he would've begged for God to bring him the light and save him, yet somewhere deep down inside, he knew he deserved this pain. He hadn't protected Sammy, he let him die on his watch and this was his punishment.

These destroyers of the worlds delighted in the havoc they unleashed, in the terror and the blood. their driving need was the destruction of all that was other to them. and their sole bliss was the suffering they administered. This truth could be confirmed by the many experiences Dean have had with them, but also, with his time in hell. Keeping his silence, he gazed upward, which ought to have been clouded with self-pity as though steam in a bathroom, Dean searched for his anger and found it. This was a black and bitter anger as poisonous as rattlesnake venom; with little difficulty, his heart was distilling it into purest rage.

"Still fighting huh? We'll just have to fix that, now won't we?" Dean flinched at the harsh words spoken into his ear, a dagger slid into his stomach as if he was simply butter. Repressing a yell, he slammed his eyes shut and bit down hard on his lip drawling blood immediately. The copper taste held no effects on him, he knew the taste, it was a constant reminder of where he was and how he got there. Trembling and sweating, he cracked his eyes open a fraction to give him a visual of Alastair who went about his business, practically carving Dean into a disfigured pumpkin.

But the sudden motion of tugging sent him swirling a black abyss, a flurry of golden locks offering a temporary solace ..then nothing existed.

_The hardest thing to do ...is to live in this world..._

Confined, encased ...restricted, the silence lingering caused skin to crawl and breath to be released in jagged pants. Pants that tore from his throat like razorblades destroying the soft tissue, hindering all paths to a normal breathing pattern. Were his eyes open? Black velvet eased over orbs smoothly, either way, pallid-lids open or not - he was in the pitch black. He knew the extent of it because hands were now roaming the base of something wooden. A synapse fired off in his brain, the man was located in a coffin. Body stiffened at the acknowledgment, fingers curling inside pockets to search for a way to illuminate the small area and perhaps discover a way to freedom. Nothing.

Dean Winchester was left with little to no oxygen, and the only reason for any to reside within the depths is because he was placed in there already dead. Three or four minutes were the count-down till he suffocated and went back to hell.

His head throbbed madly, sparks of pain erupted, threatening to discourage every movement he wanted to take. Ignoring it all, palms of hands grazed the top lining, merely three inches thick which gave him an advantage to escaping his current personal hell. Despite all his strengths and having the capacity of being exceptional in anything when he applied himself - he hated being cornered, forced into spots with no means of eluding whatever in proximity. Right now that being a figment of his imagination - still it proved to be wearing the nerves he possessed still down to the end of their existence. Letting out a bated breath, he summoned every once of strength and unleashed several rapid punches to the wood. "aahhhrgh."

Like earth worms, fingers clawed at the soil, his frame working its way upward. The hard part destroying the foundation of the coffin and the first couple feet. Extending a hand in the grave where he laid to rest ..who knows how long ago, relief spiraled throughout him and coaxed him further ...to surface entirely. Wide shafts of the suns' rays cast down on him basking him in a harsh setting, he cupped his hand protecting eyes; half understanding what its like to be blind and suddenly have sight. Everything was vivid and detailed. Almost immediately, he sought after the necklace to find it missing.

Sammy.

_Where is he?_

_How did I..._

A grain of horror expanded in his chest; did Sam somehow make a deal? Ropes of agony bound his heart in the dread of it being true. Partially adapted to the vicious rays, Dean padded onward approaching a road soon after, but it felt like a fork in the road because in both directions nothing came into view. Incapable of rolling on gut instincts when his stomach churned with sickness and worry, Dean went old-school; eenie meenie miney moe...

The heat became unbearable, sweat trickled down his features in lead droplets, his skin seared, and body ached to the point of keelin' over again. This time without the help of a hellhound or two. Hours of walking resulted in approaching a small store, his eyes went directly to the phone, then to the car ...Nobody was around. The strangeness sparked nervous tension.

With determination, Dean raced toward the door, and merely lifted a leg to kick it open. The wood splintered and cracked, the hinges were barely holding it against the frame now. First thing, a phone, and he noted the grime-covered one attached to the wall behind the counter. Rounding it, he plucked it from its base and listened to the dial tone. _Yeah, one thing goin' my way ...for now_, he thought, as he dialed Sammy's number, coming up with a fucked up message, **This number is no longer in -** He slammed it forward, disconnecting. _Bobby _..He retrieved it once more, and dialed in his number, waiting ...

"Hello" came the gruff voice.

"Bobby, it's me.." Dean cautiously spoke, afraid the aged hunter would hang up.

"Me who?" - "Dean .." call disconnected.

Great.

Again, he tried.

"Hello?"

"Don't you fuckin' hang up on me again! It's me Bobby ..Dean." A familiar voice echoed in the background...Oh god, was that Sammy?

"Is Sammy there?"

"Call again, and I'll kill you." Line beeped, disconnected again.

"Damn..."

Gathering a few necessary items, Dean exited the small structure and swaggered toward the car, he just hoped it would run. If not, he was stranded. And with ease, he hot wired the piece of shit, and tore from the parking lot, barreling ass down the country road; the suspicion still ebbing...what happened to those folks who were running that place? And the car ...just sitting there? None of it made sense. Nor did him returning. What the hell was happening?

A darkness shadowed the car, in an ominous sort-of-way, where thick tendrils of dread and impending doom bound the vehicle, yet it furthered to encase him as well. Plush tiers parted a fraction, exhaling a soft and controlled breath, jaded orbs flickering from time-to-time as he continued on this two lane-road, the pavement as black and cold as the situation he found himself drowning in. His worry revolved Sam, and on what that kid did to bring him back. As his chest tightened at the prospect of Sam giving anything up for his return, Dean subconsciously gripped the steering wheel, the various slits across his knuckles were pried open and fresh crimson seeped out, trickling down his hands and the steering wheel itself. How many hours had he been driving? Chewing on the inside of his mouth, he recanted; almost six hours. p

_Wait ...Buffy..._ His head throbbed as he tried to make sense of this, and only found himself struggling to withstand the panic flourishing in his veins, blood running cold ...jade orbs dimming .. What if ...the promise was kept...? A tinge of relief swept through him, Sam hadn't made a deal. Yet, where _was _she?

_To be continued_ **...?**


End file.
